


Are You Happy Yet?

by HiNerdsItsCat (HiLarpItsCat)



Series: Uncertain Point of View [20]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars: Rebellion Era - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Humor, Bittersweet Ending, Canonical Character Death, Death, Dramedy, Episode: s03e20 Twin Suns, Force Ghost Obi-Wan Kenobi, Force Ghost(s), Force Training, Gen, Luke Accidentally Starts A Religious Farming Commune, Luke Skywalker Is A Ray Of Goddamned Sunshine, Maul Is Still A Pretty Terrible Person, Near Death Experiences, Not Meant To Be A Romance But If You Want To Interpret It That Way I'm Not Going To Stop You, Obi-Wan and Maul Are Luke's Grumpy Dads, POV Darth Maul, POV Second Person, Pre-Star Wars: A New Hope, References to Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008), Sith Inquisitor OC, Star Wars: Rebels References, Tatooine (Star Wars), You Were Supposed To Be The Chosen One!, the grey side of the force
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-18 13:24:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21711457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiLarpItsCat/pseuds/HiNerdsItsCat
Summary: Your name is Maul. For so long, all you have wanted is revenge on Obi-Wan Kenobi, the man who ruined your life.After years of searching, you finally find him hiding on Tatooine and kill him.Then Kenobi's ghost convinces you to do something you never thought you would agree to: train a teenager named Luke Skywalker.
Relationships: Darth Maul & Luke Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Darth Maul, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Luke Skywalker
Series: Uncertain Point of View [20]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1140194
Comments: 33
Kudos: 442
Collections: favourite fics from a galaxy far far away





	Are You Happy Yet?

**Author's Note:**

> Setting: 2BBY (or 17 years after _Revenge of the Sith.)_
> 
> Although this episode technically takes place during the _Star Wars: Rebels_ episode "Twin Suns," you don't need to have watched the show or the episode in order to follow what's going on; however, there is a part of that episode in which Obi-Wan says that he believes that Luke is the Chosen One.

Your name is Maul.

Long ago, you had a title (Darth) and a Master (Sidious) and a calling (destroying the Jedi). You never cared whether or not you were happy. You had more important things to care about.

But after the worst day of your life, you only cared about one thing:

_Kenobi._

The man who ruined your entire life. Because of him, your body and mind were nearly destroyed. Because of him, your Master moved on with another apprentice. Because of him, you lost everything you ever had. All that was left was your hatred of him and your desire for revenge.

But no matter how hard you tried, no matter how many times you fought or how many people you took from him, it was never enough.

When your former Master succeeded in destroying the Jedi, your first reaction wasn’t joy or even satisfaction; instead, you were _furious_ that Kenobi had died at the hands of some anonymous cloned soldiers rather than by _your_ hand.

You hate your former Master—he cast you off and killed your brother and was responsible for the destruction of your homeworld—but you never hated him as much as you hated Kenobi. With Kenobi dead, however, you had to focus on _something,_ and swearing revenge on Sidious seemed like an acceptable (though unrealistic) goal.

It was deeply unsatisfying and ultimately futile.

However, after almost twenty more years of this disappointing continued existence that you call a ‘life,’ you discover something incredible:

_He lived._

You return to the goal that had given you life and purpose for so long: find Kenobi and kill him.

As you make preparations for your trip to Tatooine, a small voice inside that you refuse to listen to keeps asking: _would that_ _really_ _make you happy?_

You have never cared about being happy, you remind yourself. 

* * *

Time was even less kind to Kenobi than it was to you. You never bothered to learn how humans typically age (since most of the humans—and other species as well—that you encounter typically do not survive long enough for that to be an issue), but even you can tell that he has gotten old.

You have both gotten old.

This has obviously gone on for far too long.

Under the cover of a Tatooine night, with the desert sands still releasing their heat into the cooling air, you have your final confrontation.

Your saber comes up and Kenobi doesn’t parry in time and—

And then he _vanishes._

You are left alone in the sand with a lightsaber and a pile of empty robes and _so much confusion._

You thought that you would finally feel satisfied—isn’t this what you have wanted ever since this man destroyed your entire life almost thirty years ago?

Instead, you are just bewildered.

You wonder if this was somehow all a massive hallucination brought on by the desert heat, but if you are so far gone that you dragged yourself into the middle of this horrible wasteland for nothing, then your sanity is a lost cause at this point.

You don’t know what to do now, so instead you sit, staring into the remains of the fire that you doused when you arrived, and try to think of anything—anything at all.

* * *

Apparently you fell asleep, because the brutal heat of two suns is pounding down on you and someone is yelling at you to wake up.

_Get up, you fool, or you’re going to burn to death!_

You stumble to your feet and look around, but you are alone. It seems that you are being yelled at by your own subconscious.

_I don’t know how long it takes for Zabraks to die of dehydration, but perhaps we should postpone that particular discovery for another day._

Your subconscious is more condescending than you expected.

_You are at least ten kilometers from anything even resembling shade and you haven’t had a drink of water in hours._

Of course. Water. You did bring some with you, though the sand moved around enough while you were sleeping that it takes you a few moments to find it. You also find a mostly-full canteen of water among Kenobi’s things.

_Take the robes as well. You’ll need all the protection from the sun that you can get._

You nearly gag in disgust. Of all the things for your fevered mind to consider… you would rather be dead than wrap yourself in the clothes of your greatest enemy—

_You’re the fool who decided to come here in a short-sleeved shirt. Swallow your damned pride and take them._

As you pull the nasty-smelling cloak around your shoulders, you vow to burn every scrap of these rags the first chance you get.

 _Now_ _move_ _. It is only an hour or two past sunrise—and trust me, the heat will only get worse the longer you delay._

You aren’t sure why your subconscious is urging you to _trust_ it, but you can’t argue with the logic of what it is suggesting, so you move.

_Head in the opposite direction of the suns. There are rock formations in the distance and if you can make it that far you might have a chance of living through the next twelve hours._

You stagger across the dunes wondering how in blazes you remembered all of that.

 _At least you bothered to_ _wear_ _a shirt this time._

You know that you aren’t the sanest of people, but in all the previous times that you had a psychotic break, you were much less… sarcastic.

In fact, the longer you walk, the more you suspect that what you are hearing may not be your own voice at all.

Still, you follow its advice—or, rather, its instructions. It isn’t as though you have a better plan to offer.

* * *

You finish the water long before you reach your destination, which makes the final few hours of your trek through the desert a sand-colored blur, while that voice urges you along in increasingly rude language.

You barely notice when you arrive at some kind of structure: you merely stumble from one impossibly hot location into a slightly-less-impossibly hot location, and then you collapse.

It is unclear how long you spent unconscious as your fevered brain concocted dreams of walking through an infinite wasteland, except that the wasteland was also the Force and the wasteland was also your body and everything was crumbling into sand and bones.

When you finally return to a state of clarity (well, for you, at least), you realize that you didn’t wander into a naturally-occurring cave: you are in a house carved out of sandstone. In fact, you are lying on a bed.

With a groan, you sit up and look around. The furnishings are minimal, but you can see a few small items, a chest of some kind… and a neatly folded pile of brown robes identical to the one you had pulled around yourself to fend off the scorching rays of two suns.

You didn’t wander into just any house: you are in _Kenobi’s_ house.

And, sitting at the foot of the bed, slightly transparent and surrounded by a faint blue glow, is Kenobi himself.

Even though you still feel like a freighter landed on top of you, it doesn’t prevent you from grabbing your lightsaber and stabbing it into his throat.

The scarlet blade passes right through him without any apparent effect.

“Not to worry,” he says, looking annoyed. “You did it right the first time. Congratulations.”

“You’re dead.” This is obvious, but you say it anyway. “You’re a _ghost.”_

“Well, you’re nothing if not observant,” he remarks, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You _vanished.”_

“Look on the bright side: I saved you the trouble of having to dispose of my body.”

Wonderful, he’s going to be _cryptic_ about it. “I expected that death would have finally rid the galaxy of your disgusting presence,” you spit. 

He arches an eyebrow. “All these years studying the Force and you don’t believe it capable of a few more surprises?”

You don’t like this at all, and it takes you a few moments to realize the part that is bothering you the most. “It was your voice that I heard in the desert,” you say warily.

Kenobi nods. “Yes.”

“You could have just left me there to die.”

“I could have, yes.”

“But instead you guided me here.”

He nods again. “Yes.”

“Why would you bother to save the life of the person who murdered you?” you demand.

Kenobi actually looks a little uncomfortable. “I need you alive because I need your…” He has to force the words out of his mouth: “I need your help.”

You can’t help it: you laugh. “Why would I _possibly_ agree to help _you?”_

“Because we have a mutual enemy, and the key to defeating him is what I have been watching over for the last seventeen years. Well,” he corrects himself, sounding a little irritated, “I _had_ been watching over him.”

You knew that Kenobi had been protecting _someone_ on this hellhole of a planet. “Is he the Chosen One?” you ask. You aren’t sure if you believe in the prophecy or not, but both Sidious and the Jedi seemed to think it was important.

Now it’s Kenobi who is wary. “He is. Now do you understand why I need your help? If the Emperor ever learned of his existence, he would know that the boy would be a threat to him. The Chosen One needs to be kept hidden and he needs to be trained if this is going to work.”

“And you want _me_ to take your place in this scheme?”

“Well, _you’re_ the one who came along and ruined the entire plan, so yes.” He grimaced. “I’m not especially fond of the idea, but I’ve run low on options.”

You take great delight in delivering your response: “Absolutely not.”

“What?”

“I have no interest in playing babysitter to some desert rat. If the boy truly _is_ the Chosen One, then he will find a way to avenge us without my help. I have better things to do with my time.”

Kenobi appears to be somewhere between exasperated and angry. “Except that you _don’t._ If you leave this place, provided you can pull yourself together long enough to manage it, you’ll be dead before the Emperor’s reign is ended.”

You snort. “Since you’ve been stuck in this filth-ridden backwater all this time, I assume you haven’t kept up with current events: Sidious is an old withered husk at this point. He’s probably in more danger from the flu than he is from the Chosen One.”

“Since Vader hasn’t turned on him, I assume that he’s still quite dangerous even at this age.” He looks you over with a critical eye. “How old are _you,_ incidentally?”

You take a moment to calculate; you’ve lost a few years here and there. “Half a century at least,” you say. “Perhaps a few years older than that.”

“You’re not going to make it to sixty, Maul,” he says. “You know that, don’t you? You’re dying.”

You don’t want his pity. “I’ve made it this long,” you snap. “I have survived hundreds of things that would have killed a lesser being, like you.”

Kenobi comes very close to smirking. “Am I one of those ‘lesser beings’ or am I one of the things that you survived?”

You glare at him. “Take a wild guess.”

“Both, I assume.” The smirk fades. “But that’s precisely why you’re dying: even though you survived, those injuries took a toll. Your heart, liver, and kidneys are in the early stages of organ failure, your prosthetics were so poorly maintained that the attachment site is in a nearly perpetual state of infection, you have significant nerve damage from what I assume is repeated electrocution by your former Master, and you’re so chronically malnourished that it’s a wonder you have any bone density or muscle mass left at all. You’ve kept yourself going with the help of the Force, but even _your_ exceptional stubbornness won’t be enough to hold it at bay forever. Sooner than you think, you will lose your grip and you will die, slowly and in excruciating pain.”

What you want to do is brush this off as another one of Kenobi’s attempts to unbalance you with the smug sense of superiority that he likes to call ‘compassion,’ but you have the uncomfortable sense that he’s telling the truth. You have been in pain for as long as you can remember—it was what gave you the rage that you needed to achieve mastery over the Dark Side of the Force—but lately it has felt… heavier. More like a burden than a source of power.

And now, having gotten some measure of revenge against Kenobi, what you currently feel is _tired._

Still: “I expected you to be happier about this,” you say.

He sighs. “I would like to believe that I would never rejoice in the death of another sentient being, but the truth is that, if the circumstances were different, I probably _would_ be at least a little pleased.”

“What do you mean, ‘if the circumstances were different’?”

Kenobi’s next words are practically a growl: “Because, much as I hate to admit it, you are my only hope.”

You grin. “Then consider this my final act of revenge: if I only have a handful of years left, I will spend them doing literally _anything else.”_

Feeling triumphant at last, you stand up from that accursed bed and immediately pass out.

* * *

You were probably only unconscious for a few seconds, but you really have no idea. Regardless, when you wake up on the floor, Kenobi’s ghost is standing over you looking extremely smug.

“You did this to me,” you growl.

“I can’t take the credit,” Kenobi says. “This was all your doing: you’re in no condition to go anywhere at the moment. For one thing, you’re still dangerously dehydrated.” He gestures at a piece of machinery in one corner. “The moisture vaporator still has some water in it, though you’ll have to move it outside before dark for it to accumulate any more.”

You end up having to crawl on your hands and knees to reach it, all the while wondering if there are any Sith texts out there on how to destroy ghosts.

“Drink it slowly,” Kenobi admonishes you as you gulp down as much water as you can hold. 

“You are not my mother,” you hiss at him.

He raises an eyebrow. “I met your mother once,” he says. “Those would be some rather difficult shoes to fill.”

You grumble wordlessly at him but also ingest the water at a slightly slower rate. The way that your day has been going so far, vomiting would be one of the few ways that it could get worse.

“I mentioned before that your kidneys were beginning to fail,” he continues. "The dehydration didn’t help matters.”

“I will make sure to find a medical droid when I return to this planet’s idea of civilization,” you reply sarcastically.

“Which is something that you’re unlikely to do in the near future,” he says. “Even Anchorhead is a long way off. You’ll never make it there on foot in your condition.”

“I’ll take my chances,” you mutter, wishing that you weren’t still sitting on the ground with him looming imperiously over you.

“You’ll die within hours.”

“So am I imprisoned here for the rest of my life?” you demand. “That kind of cruelty doesn’t strike me as your style, Kenobi.”

He has the nerve to roll his eyes at you. “If you recall, there was a dewback with me when you found me in the desert. She left before our duel began, but will probably return here in another night or two. You’ll have to feed her, by the way.”

 _“Fine._ As long as it gets me away from this wretched place and _you.”_

“Oh, you won’t be rid of me that easily.” Kenobi’s grin is unnervingly feral. “I’ll be going with you.”

“Why?”

“I told you, back before you fell face-first onto the floor: I need your help, and I am willing to follow you across the galaxy until you agree to provide it.”

You laugh. “There is nothing you could possibly do that would convince me to change my mind.”

That grin of his is still there. “Oh, really?”

“You are a ghost. You’re unable to affect anything in the real world.”

“That’s right, I _am_ a ghost.” He crouches down so that your faces are at the same level and looks you in the eye. “I can recall roughly two hundred separate passages of the ancient Jedi texts, fourteen different lectures on guided meditation, hours upon hours of galactic history narratives, thirty years-worth of various pop songs, about twenty _extremely obscene_ songs from the soldiers in the GAR, several very annoying younglings songs, the plots of every Life Day holiday special ever produced in Basic—including every single musical number in _The Little Lost Bantha Cub Goes to Iego—_ as well as another two specials in Rodian, the rules and regulations for a proper Bothan tea party—and trust me, they are extensive—and a near-infinite supply of stories about Anakin Skywalker’s reckless behavior over the years. I do not need to eat, or sleep, or breathe, meaning that I can spend the rest of eternity bellowing _all of the above_ directly into your ear _without pausing for breath._ I can, if I have to, make the rest of your life a living _hell_ of annoyance.”

You scoff in his face. “Is that the worst you can think of?” you ask.

“I suppose there is only one way to find out, isn’t there?”

* * *

It is so much worse that either of you had thought. You suspect that Kenobi is _intentionally_ singing off-key.

_“Though I am just a bantha cub,_   
_I believe in the power of love,_   
_While the Eight Angels fly above,_   
_And that’s how we saved Liiiiiife Daaaaay!”_

You haven’t slept in days. At this point, it’s possible that you haven’t slept in your entire life.

_“...followed by the repositioning of the third carafe to quadrant eight. For Bothan participants, a flourish of the nuchal follicles is traditionally expected at this time, but for members of furless species a small handheld fan may be substituted provided it is between eight and eleven centimeters when fully extended and of a hue that corresponds with the results of the Al’kya Color Matrix (calculated in the second folio). Although deference until this point was in the direction of the eldest individual without living parents (provided, as previously stated in the footnotes of the fourth volume, that neither the individual nor their deceased immediate kin are in violation of Axiomatic Policy #36 of the Drev’starn Accords), following the completion of the flourish the node of deference shifts to the individual whose astrological alignment (calculated using the Gllayan charts in the second folio) most closely resembles the host…”_

His beast of burden has yet to return, so you remain trapped in this hovel while you recuperate. 

_“—and it is only_ _then_ _that Anakin reveals he had reprogrammed the proximity sensors to keep them from activating the autopilot, apparently having_ _completely forgotten_ _that those sensors were also used by the navicomputer to prevent the ship from crossing into mass shadows when calculating hyperspace vectors. Really, it’s a wonder that we didn’t collide with the planet itself—although we eventually_ _did_ _, because the abrupt reversion to realspace shorted out half the systems and we ended up crashing on the surface and had to spend the next eighteen hours huddled in an ice cave until someone could respond to our distress signal. And of course Anakin spends every_ _second_ _of those eighteen hours_ _whining_ _: it was too cold, it wasn’t his fault, why aren’t there Force powers that can melt ice, why does everything smell like burning chemicals, why does he have to—”_

“STOP!” You finally hit a breaking point. 

“Changed your mind?” Kenobi asks, sounding infuriatingly _chipper._

“Fine! If this is what it takes for you to cease this onslaught of inane drivel, then _fine!_ Where is he?” At this point, you would just like to get this over with, dehydration in the desert be damned.

Kenobi seems a little surprised at your sudden interest. “He lives on a moisture farm near Anchorhead.”

You grimace. “A farmer?”

“He’s seventeen. His guardians are farmers.”

“And his name?”

Kenobi hesitates. “Luke Skywalker.”

Your eyes widen. “Like that brat who was your apprentice?”

“His son,” Kenobi confirms. He looks suddenly weary and sad.

You know why, of course: Sidious is a vain enough man that he had to brag to _someone_ about his success in turning the Jedi Order’s golden boy into his servant, a cruel enough man to want to torment you with the knowledge of the latest person to have replaced you as his apprentice, and a crafty enough man to know that you couldn’t do anything with this knowledge. Therefore, you know who Darth Vader is and you also know who inflicted the injuries that put him in that suit. It is one of the few things that you admire about Kenobi: for someone so self-righteous, he has an impressive talent for bloodshed.

The implications catch up with you. “You mean for the boy to kill his own father.” You feel a grin spread across your face. “Really, Kenobi, I didn’t expect such deviousness from you of all people.”

“That is _not_ his father,” Kenobi snaps.

You scoff. “Of course it is. The Dark Side doesn’t destroy the personality of the one who wields it. Do you really think that I became an entirely different person when Sidious instructed me?”

“I don’t believe that you were ever given the _chance_ to be your own person. I told you years ago: I know that the decision to turn to the Dark Side was not your own.”

“And you think that the Jedi are any different?” you sneer. “There’s a reason why the Jedi got along so well with those clone troopers: you were practically clones yourselves, all derived from an identical template of what the ‘perfect Jedi’ was supposed to be. You had even less of a choice in what you became than I did.”

“Is this what you plan to teach Luke?” Kenobi demands. “If he becomes a Sith, he will just be another pawn in Palpatine’s hand.”

“And if he is a Jedi, he will be too impotent to fight Vader _or_ Sidious!”

“He has the potential to be even more powerful than his father,” Kenobi insists. “He just needs someone to show him how.”

“Well, I don’t _know_ how to teach whatever Jedi dogma you believe in, so it’s a moot point, isn’t it?”

“I can tell you what to say—”

You feel more offended than anything else. “I refuse to merely parrot your useless advice!”

“You can’t lock me out of this,” he retorts. His eyes harden. “I’m more than willing to start my ‘recital’ all over again.”

You groan in frustration. “All right, _fine_ —but for every lesson you provide, I will provide one of my own to balance it out.”

Kenobi freezes. “Balance.” He strokes his beard, clearly agitated. “The prophecy said that the Chosen One would bring balance to the Force. Is this…”

You stare at him in bewilderment. “You believe it will require him to learn about both sides of the Force?”

He looks as confused as you feel. “This can’t possibly be what it meant.”

“I suppose there is only one way to find out.” You hear a noise from outside and discover Kenobi’s dewback waiting for you.

You glare at his ghost. “You did that on purpose.”

His silent reply is an infuriatingly enigmatic smile.

Grumbling, you start to pack up supplies for your journey.

* * *

You reach the scrap-ridden region that Kenobi calls a ‘farm’ shortly before dark.

“He often walks to this ridge to watch the sunset,” Kenobi tells you. He isn’t visually present, but as usual is unable to keep from chattering incessantly into your ear.

“He stands outside and stares at suns? Are you sure he isn’t some kind of half-wit?”

You hear Kenobi’s scoff of disapproval. “Just because _you’ve_ never appreciated anything of beauty doesn’t mean that—”

“I have seen plenty of beautiful things!” you protest. “They just aren’t this _dull.”_

“Hush, there he is.”

 _“You_ hush!” You jump down from the dewback and make your way up to the top of the dune. The boy standing there has far too much hair, utterly impractical robes, and looks like he might pass out if he sneezed too hard.

“Skywalker—” is all you manage to say before you find a small blaster pointing in your direction.

Perhaps this boy won’t end up being a complete waste of time after all. 

You raise your hands to the level of your shoulders, demonstrating that you are without a weapon. “I mean you no harm.”

You hear Kenobi snort next to you. “Is that the first time those words have ever come out of your mouth?” He is visible again and therefore you have a destination for your irritated glare.

“Who are you?” the boy demands; apparently he is unable to see or hear Kenobi.

“My name is Maul. I have come here to find you and train you in the ways of the Force.”

“We’re not really a religious household.”

 _Wonderful,_ he has no idea. “It isn’t a _religion,_ you fool, it’s _power.”_

“Yeah, like I said, we get missionaries here every so often, so—”

You groan in frustration and pull the blaster out of his hand with the Force. For good measure, you send it flying in an arc until it smacks him in the back of the head.

“Ow!”

 _“That_ kind of power!” you snap. “Apparently no one has bothered to inform you of anything useful, so I will have to provide you with a summary: the Force is an energy field that some people have the ability to utilize in ways that make your recent head injury look like a child’s prank—”

“Because it was roughly the same level of maturity _as_ a child’s prank,” Kenobi mutters.

You shush Kenobi and continue: “—and _you,_ through a combination of genetics and destiny, are particularly powerful in this area, but you need instruction. I am here to provide that instruction, because the person who was _supposed_ to do it apparently thought that waiting seventeen years was a reasonable strategy despite the fate of the galaxy hanging in the balance.”

Kenobi is indignant. “Well, _pardon me_ if I thought that—”

The boy—Luke—stops rubbing his head. “The fate of the galaxy?”

You emit another frustrated groan. “The Emperor of the galaxy possesses these powers as well. It is your destiny to stop him and destroy his Empire—oh, and bring balance to the Force in the process.”

Luke stares at you as if he had just heard you tell him that the dewback you rode in on was his mother. “And do _what?”_

“I don’t know how either of those things will be accomplished.” You grab one of the canteens still hanging from the aforementioned dewback. “You will have to figure that part out for yourself.” You hold up the canteen. “I am low on water. Take me to whatever crude pit on this property qualifies as a residence. Then your first lesson will begin.”

“I have… chores?” Luke manages to stammer, picking up the blaster from where it had dropped on the sand.

You wave a hand dismissively. “Irrelevant. This is far more important. Now move.”

In your opinion, Luke’s response is an intelligent one: he starts walking.

Kenobi apparently doesn’t share your assessment of the situation. “What is _wrong_ with you?” he demands.

“I was being efficient,” you reply. “How would _you_ have handled it?”

“Well, for one thing, I would have been a little more _gentle,”_ he scolds you.

You roll your eyes. “You mean that you would have been annoyingly cryptic.”

“Who do you keep talking to?” Luke asks.

“Darth Vader is your father,” you say. “You’ll probably have to kill him one of these days.”

“Who’s Darth Vader?” Luke asks, but his question is nearly inaudible compared to Kenobi’s wordless scream of aggravation.

“Well,” you say as a smile spreads across your face, “won’t this be _fun.”_

* * *

Your new apprentice is aware that there is someone named Kenobi who keeps distracting you and occasionally causes you to scream at the empty air next to you, but he is still unable to see or hear him. At first, Kenobi’s inability to interfere (more specifically, to _interrupt)_ is rather satisfying, because it means that you are able to take the lead in Luke’s training. You still begrudgingly throw in a few of Kenobi’s annoying maxims about serenity, but you make it obvious to your apprentice which version you prefer.

However, you eventually run into a problem: despite being a hormonal teenager on a world that is obviously hostile to organic life, Luke has almost no anger or rage to harness.

“It is as though he _wants_ to be weak!” you rant to Kenobi as you pace the length of the small storage shed that Luke’s guardians grudgingly allowed you to sleep in after Luke did his best to advocate on your behalf. They become slightly less hostile after you repel an attack by the local Raiders in a manner that makes it extremely clear to the survivors that they should alter their plans going forward. You make a similar _‘argument’_ to the lackeys of the local Hutt crimelord.

“He has the potential to rival Sidious in his level of power, and yet he shows no interest in wielding it!” You wish there was something in this space for you to throw around in anger, but all you have at your disposal is sand. “Without passion, all of my instruction is useless!”

“He _has_ passion,” Kenobi says mildly. “It just isn’t anger.”

“How would _you_ know?”

Kenobi appears to be doing his best not to look smug; it is not as effective as he thinks it is. “Because, unlike you, I have had the opportunity to observe him when he isn’t around _you.”_

“Convenient,” you sniff.

“Find a way to follow him the next time he goes to Anchorhead. You’ll see what I mean.”

Lurking in a crowd of dust farmers is not your idea of a pleasant way to pass an afternoon, especially with Kenobi constantly _talking_ while you are trying to eavesdrop.

“Don’t worry about what he’s saying,” the bane of your existence says.

“All he is doing is whining to his idiot friends,” you mutter. “Where is the passion in that?”

“Just wait.”

“If I am about to watch this brat’s nauseating attempt at flirting—” you begin, but then stop.

A group of stormtroopers moves down the main street of the market, shoving aside whoever happens to be in their way. At first you think that they are hunting for something, but it turns out to be nothing but petty brutality.

Luke is directly in their path and, for a moment, you wonder if you are about to watch your apprentice get mowed down by an armored thug, but then you see something flare behind the boy’s eyes.

Without even realizing what they are doing, the troopers step around him and continue on.

“You see?” Kenobi says.

“Well,” you say, _“that,_ I can work with.”

* * *

What you would really prefer to do is to find a way to put Luke in front of a squad of stormtroopers and then see how quickly he could cut them into pieces, but you end up having to abandon that plan after Kenobi makes it all the way to the fifth verse of “One Brother Or Another In The Dark,” which comes to an abrupt end when Luke sticks his head in the doorway of your shed with both an expression of alarm and a fierce blush on his face.

“Oh no…” Kenobi freezes in horror.

“Luke Skywalker,” you manage to gasp out while heaving with laughter, “meet Obi-Wan Kenobi… Jedi Master.”

* * *

He won’t call you ‘Master.’ He won’t call either of you that.

“It doesn’t mean what it means on Tatooine,” Kenobi insists. “It is merely a title of respect—”

“That’s what people like Jabba say too,” Luke retorts. “That it’s _respect._ But it isn’t, it just means submission.” 

He crosses his arms over his chest with a look of defiance, which for some reason triggers a new burst of exasperation in Kenobi.

“Your father never had a problem with that title,” he points out.

“Based on what both of you have told me, my father had a lot of _other_ problems. Besides,” Luke adds, “I’m not my father.”

He and Kenobi continue arguing while you watch, entertained. As much as it irks you, you can’t help but be a little impressed with your apprentice’s willingness to stand up for himself. This planet is not for the weak, and neither is the path that he must walk. Submitting to the will of another will do him no good against Sidious.

Though you do wish that he would _listen_ to you once in awhile. The boy seems content to pick and choose what he accepts of your and Kenobi’s contrasting philosophies, and occasionally—the little brat—pits the two of you against one another for _fun._

Still, he is learning something from the competitive chaos that your instruction has become. It just isn’t anything that you completely understand.

“He wasn’t like this before,” Kenobi says to you the next time you are alone, on a trip to gather a handful of forgotten items from his dwelling out in the Wastes. “He didn’t argue with anyone this much.” He glares at you. _“You_ did this.”

“As much as I would relish taking the credit,” you say, “it was likely a combination of us both. We told him that he had power—why are we surprised that he is using it?”

Kenobi looks troubled. “His father was like this, towards the end. I worry that Luke is in danger of being corrupted by the Dark Side.”

You start laughing. “Did you forget who you’re talking to?”

He rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“I would love _nothing more_ than for you to watch helplessly as your precious ‘Chosen One’ fully embraces the might of the Dark Side,” you say, “but unfortunately he is just as contrary about that as he is about everything else.”

Kenobi regards you in silence for a moment, before a sly grin appears on his face. “Were you worried that he would go completely to the Light?”

“No,” you grumble.

“You’re lying.”

You refuse to answer him and he eventually vanishes, which is something that happens on occasion but not nearly enough in your opinion. Your dewback ride back to the farm is in a very welcome silence.

In the distance, near the power station on the outskirts of Anchorhead, you spot a TIE starfighter. It obviously landed here while you were away: they are not especially subtle ships, even more so for their differences from the standard Imperial model.

You know this type of ship well: you had stolen one on Malachor only a few months ago.

Which means that there is an Inquisitor on Tatooine.

You finally lose patience with the dewback’s lack of speed, so you dismount and run the remaining distance on foot. 

By the time you reach the farm, you are breathing so hard that the edges of your vision are going dark from lack of air.

You sense Luke inside the homestead’s garage, and as you near the doorway you can hear that he is not alone. You cannot hear the sound of any lightsabers, which is both a relief and a disappointment.

The element of surprise may be useful, so you keep quiet and watch through a crack in the door.

The Inquisitor is a Twi’lek girl with dark green skin and what appears to be a skeletal cybernetic left arm. She looks even younger than your apprentice. 

“What _are_ you?” you hear her whisper. “You are no Jedi… but neither are you one of us.”

“I’m trying to find a third option,” Luke says. He pauses for a moment. “I could show you, if you wanted to learn.”

“I… that is not why I was sent here. I have a mission.”

“What did they send you here to do? Find Jedi?”

She nods. “To capture or kill them.”

“You don’t sound like you want to do either of those things. What _do_ you want to do?”

“I must obey my Master’s orders.”

Something in Luke’s expression shifts. “People don’t say ‘must’ about things that they want to do. Who is your… Master?” He nearly spits that final word.

“The Empire.” She looks away. “Vader.”

You hear Luke’s sharp intake of breath and sense a growing well of anger building inside of him.

_Perfect._

“She has told you enough,” you say as you reveal your presence. “Dispose of her before she notifies Vader.”

“She doesn’t want to do that,” Luke says quietly. “Do you?” he asks her.

The Inquisitor hesitates and then shakes her head. “No,” she says, sounding surprised at her own words. “I don’t.”

“See?” Luke says to you. “She can stay here. We can hide her from the Empire.”

Of all the times for your apprentice to choose foolishness over power… “It is pointless. She is a danger to us all. Take your saber and cut her down.” His first kill is long overdue anyway.

“She isn’t here to harm anyone!” Luke protests.

“You don’t know that!” you snarl. “Anyone can _appear_ harmless until they stick a blade in your back.” For her part, the Inquisitor is looking at you with an expression that makes it clear what she would like to do with that hypothetical blade if she got within range. Apparently she recognizes you.

Luke is still insistent. “If we don’t give people a chance to change, then _nothing_ will change!”

“She is a servant of the Empire! A servant of the Emperor that you are supposed to _destroy!”_

“Weren’t _you_ one of those servants once?”

You do your best to ignore that accusation. “If you refuse to do what must be done, then there will always be limits to your abilities!”

“How do you know that this _must_ be done?”

“Have you listened to _anything_ I have tried to teach you?” you shout. “The Dark Side fights without mercy, without remorse. If you want to be victorious, you need to find the same strength inside of you.”

“This isn’t the answer. I won’t kill her.”

“Then perhaps you need a demonstration,” you growl, drawing your lightsaber and moving in for the kill.

“Stop!” Luke yells, and suddenly he is blazing in the Force: not the barely-controlled inferno that you are, but something more solid, like a durasteel bar glowing white-hot. He wields his power as if it is a lightsaber: a blade of conviction and righteous anger, radiating the Light and the Dark in equal amounts.

Balanced.

You have never sensed anything like this before, which is enough of a distraction that your focus slips and everything blurs and you realize as you collapse that something has just gone very wrong.

* * *

You are in the desert. No, a wasteland: a featureless expanse of bones and dust. Rather than the kind of darkness that you would associate with such a place of absence, everything is saturated with an almost painful amount of light, which is far too bright for you to see much of anything at all.

You turn around to get your bearings and find yourself inside Kenobi’s house, along with its original occupant.

“What happened?” you ask, still blinking away the occasional glare of light filtering in from unknown sources.

“You died,” Kenobi says, as though it was a trivial matter. “Well, for the moment, at least: your heart stopped. Luke is attempting to revive you.”

It isn’t as though you _don’t_ believe in an afterlife—Kenobi’s continued interference in your life makes a rather strong case for its existence—but this is not what you expected.

You feel extremely strange and it takes you a moment to realize that it’s because you are no longer in a constant state of pain. Not only that: your legs are your own again and you even feel younger.

Kenobi looks younger as well, although it is harder to tell because his appearance isn’t particularly consistent: one minute he is stroking that gray beard of his and then next minute the beard is gone and he has the stupid haircut that he had as an apprentice, and then he has facial hair again but it is brown and he is wearing the armor of a soldier… looking directly at him is beginning to make you dizzy. 

“This isn’t what happens to _everyone,_ is it?” You haven’t felt this confused since the night you killed him.

“I only know about my own experience,” Kenobi admits. “There are techniques that make it possible for a being’s consciousness to persist after death, which is how I can manifest in the physical world… but as far as I know, the typical ending for the dead is to pass into the Force.”

You feel a little uneasy. “The Jedi have ways to avoid that?”

“I’m not sure if it _is_ a Jedi technique, to be honest. It was taught to me by—” He flinches briefly. “—by someone who had learned of it outside the Order.”

You can make a very good guess at who he is referring to. “He didn’t vanish when I killed _him.”_

Kenobi looks at you with an expression you have not seen on his face in three decades—in fact, at the moment his appearance is that of the young apprentice he had once been.

“It was over half a lifetime ago, wasn’t it?” you say, feeling wistful. “That fateful day. The worst day of my life… and one of the worst of yours as well.” You are not sure where your duel ranks compared to the one he had with Vader.

“It is strange,” you admit, “other than Sidious, you have been one of the few constants in my life.” You make a small sound of amusement. “In fact, you might be the closest thing that I have to a friend.”

Kenobi’s expression is stony. “Leaving aside the fact that you _murdered me,_ you also harmed a great number of people I cared about, and you are not sorry for any of it.” He looks away. “So, no, we are not friends.”

You hate a great many things, but not nearly as much as you hate yourself in this exact moment, because Kenobi’s words make you feel something awful: regret.

“I know that you keep telling yourself that you aren’t a sane person,” Kenobi adds, still not looking in your direction. “I don’t know whether or not that is true, but I also don’t think it’s the reason for the things you have done.”

“Then what _is_ the reason?” you ask.

Kenobi finally turns around. “You,” he says. “The reason is you.”

You want to know what he means by that, except that you _don’t_ want to know—but it ends up not mattering anyway, because the light suddenly vanishes and the pain returns and you wake up to find Luke leaning over you with a worried look on his face.

* * *

Your temporary death turns out to be an unexpected boon for Luke’s efforts with the Inquisitor: from _her_ point of view, Luke apparently struck you dead with a single word and then revived you without any trouble at all. That misunderstanding is enough to convince her that perhaps there are things she can learn here.

Luke’s guardians are less than pleased that their boy has collected yet another “bad-tempered stray” (as his uncle puts it), but Luke points out that they could use another pair of hands to help out around the farm. The Inquisitor girl, whose name is Cita, shrugs. “I have been given worse tasks in exchange for knowledge,” she says.

The fact that your apprentice has somehow acquired an apprentice of his own troubles you greatly, and it isn’t until Kenobi points it out that you realize that you are still subconsciously thinking like a Sith. Were you training Luke solely in the ways of the Sith, taking an apprentice would be a sign that he was planning to kill you.

Though it has been almost twenty years, you still remember the look on Sidious’ face as he spat “You have become a _rival!”_ and proceeded to destroy everything that you had: your plans, your victories, and your brother.

You have to remind yourself, over and over, that this situation is different. Luke’s destiny does not lie with the Sith, nor does it lie with the Jedi. 

He is meant to be something new.

Somehow, he is the _opposite_ of a disturbance in the Force: standing near him, the Force seems to feel more stable, less chaotic. Balanced.

“I think we may be running out of things to teach him,” Kenobi muses. 

“Speak for yourself,” you say, but secretly you have had the same concerns. Luke is teaching Cita things that he never learned from either of you.

At one point, you listen in on one of their lessons, in which the ex-Inquisitor is expressing what to you is a very reasonable amount of doubt: “The Dark and the Light are two separate things! How can I be expected to access both at once?”

“They’re _not_ separate,” Luke insists. “It isn’t binary—the idea that there are sides is just a… like a framework. It’s just the lens you’re looking through.”

“Your expression implies that you think you are making sense,” she says. “You aren’t.”

You can’t help laughing briefly, which earns you a glare from Luke. 

He turns back to Cita. “It’s hard to explain… it makes sense to me but everyone keeps thinking about it like it’s one or the other.” He sighs. “I’m sorry. I’m new to teaching.”

“You cannot change a… _lens_ with a single lesson. Try another example.”

Luke pauses to think for a few moments. “Okay,” he says, “maybe there’s a way to demonstrate what I mean. What if we start with the idea of both and then bring them together?”

Cita still looks skeptical, but gestures at him to proceed.

He nudges the metal container that he is leaning against. “Take this water tank, for example. Sure, you could probably pick it up with just your right hand or just your left hand, _or_ with both hands. But no matter which hand or how many hands you use, you’re still picking it up, right?”

“I suppose,” she says warily. Her eyes dart briefly to her prosthetic arm.

He follows her gaze. “How long was it between when you lost your arm and when you got the cybernetic replacement?” he asks softly.

You can feel her seething in the Force. “Nearly a month.”

“I’m sorry.” 

“It was meant as a lesson.” Her tone makes it clear that she is not interested in discussing those circumstances any further. “Continue with yours.”

You can tell that Luke wants to keep asking her about it, but he returns to his previous line of questioning: “During that time, you got used to only using one hand, right?”

“Yes.”

“And you had to get used to having two again when you got the prosthetic?”

“Yes.”

“So I think that what we need to work on is getting you accustomed to using both hands again, so to speak. It’ll feel like you’re splitting your concentration at first, but eventually it should feel like you’re touching the same thing, just with two hands instead of one at a time.”

“That… that makes some amount of sense.” She shrugs. “Whether it stands up to practice is another matter.”

“Only one way to find out,” Luke says with a smile.

You scoff quietly. “This is a child’s conception of how the Force works. The Inquisitor girl is only setting herself up for frustration.”

Luke overhears you. “Have _you_ ever tried?” he asks.

You scoff again. “Why would I?”

“You’re not even the tiniest bit curious?”

“Do not cower like a youngling,” Cita taunts you.

“Bold words for someone barely out of the creche,” you snarl at her.

“Was my statement a lie, _Sith?”_

“Easy,” Luke cautions you both. “Getting angry will only make this harder.”

He sounds enough like Kenobi that you nearly start shouting again, and you wonder if that was intentional on his part. After all, in spite of all your pushing over the years, Kenobi always scorned the Dark Side.

You don’t have to share his weakness.

It might be interesting to learn something new, you think.

“Begin,” you snap at Luke before you have the opportunity to talk yourself out of it.

After a moment of obvious surprise, he begins to talk you through a meditation exercise that you recall Kenobi teaching him.

It is a difficult thing to manage, with your emotions prowling around the edges of your consciousness as though they resent being ignored.

“Do you sense it?” Luke asks.

You are straining to keep your concentration centered, which is actually growing physically exhausting somehow.

But you do, eventually, feel something.

You try to reach out to the Light, but in the process you lose your hold on the Dark. Your vision blurs and you gasp for air.

* * *

You are back in this over-illuminated version of Kenobi’s house.

“Wonderful,” you mutter. “I died from an _experiment.”_

“It’s probably temporary,” Kenobi says. “Though at this point you should start worrying about the repeated cardiac arrests causing brain damage.”

“Because I don’t have enough things to worry about,” you grumble. “I’m tempted to just stay here.”

“You’ll have to find your own place; I am not letting you stick around like some kind of spectral houseguest.”

You sneer at him. “As if I could bear spending all of eternity around _you.”_

His lips twitch into something resembling a smirk. “At least I would finally be able to do this,” he says.

Before you can open your mouth to ask what he is referring to, Kenobi kicks you across the room.

Your impact with the wall doesn’t _hurt_ exactly, but it is certainly _uncomfortable._

“I take it you’re still holding a grudge,” you mutter.

“Why yes,” Kenobi says drily, “it turns out that I am still a bit upset about being _murdered.”_

"Well, it isn’t as though you can get _more_ dead—" You fling yourself back in his direction and tackle him to the floor.

Being in a fistfight without the ability to be injured is an odd experience, though it doesn’t keep the impact of your fist with Kenobi’s face from being deeply satisfying. Nor is his punch to your gut anything but _extremely annoying._

It does, however, eventually lose its novelty, as you turn out to be more or less evenly matched.

With a grunt of effort, he shoves you against the nearest wall and pins you in place. You are both breathing heavily, but that may be more out of habit than anything else. “Why did you come to Tatooine?” he asks.

Why would he ask a question with such an obvious answer? “To kill you.”

“That isn’t the entire truth. Why did you come to Tatooine?” Kenobi demands. He is standing so close to you that you can’t look anywhere but directly into his eyes.

“I came here to get my revenge!”

“On who?”

“On _you,_ obviously,” you snap.

His eyes continue to bore into you. “Not ‘obviously.’ Who was the target of your revenge?”

“I just said that it was you!”

“Who was it really? Why would you come all the way out here?”

You feel your anger taking over, followed by something else that you can’t identify. “I came to get revenge on the person who ruined my life!”

“And who was that person?”

“It was me!” you cry out. _“I_ was the person who ruined my life!”

Even though you know that it was probably the answer Kenobi was looking for, he seems just as surprised as you are by what you said. He releases his hold on you and steps back.

You don’t want to think about this. All you want to do is go back to hating Kenobi, back when things made sense and you didn’t know how little time you had left and you didn’t have to worry about rebellious farmboys with the power to warp reality.

“I _did_ want to kill you,” you assure him. “It wasn’t as though I was going to throw the fight—I fully intended to _try_ to kill you… I just didn’t think I would succeed.” You glare at him. “Except that _you_ didn’t parry in time.”

Kenobi looks at you wearily. “Don’t blame me for this.”

You angrily exhale. “I assumed that you would win the duel.”

“And you came here anyway.”

“I thought it would be a fitting end.”

He raises an eyebrow. “To what, die in my arms?”

You want to protest, but he isn’t entirely wrong. At no point have you precisely wanted to die… you were just so _tired_ that you didn’t know what else to do with yourself. “I don’t know,” you admit.

“Look on the bright side,” Kenobi says. “You’ll get part of that wish granted eventually.”

“Everyone always does,” you agree.

“But not today. Be a little less foolish next time.”

“It was Luke’s idea.”

“Very convenient, blaming our apprentice.” 

“He gets that tendency towards terrible ideas from you, you know,” is the last thing you manage to say before the light fades and you wake up, aching and in pain once again.

* * *

More Inquisitors come, not to track down their former member, but to join her.

You don’t know how the word is spreading and suspect that it is only a matter of time before someone shows up who isn’t looking for a new curriculum on the Force. Luke’s guardians are still confused over who all of these ex-Imperials are, but apparently Tatooine traditions of hospitality are strong enough that no one is turned away.

You and Kenobi both warn Luke about the possibility of traitors or spies in his midst, but even at eighteen he is apparently incapable of believing that he could be betrayed. You’re almost tempted to call the Empire yourself, just to teach him a lesson.

A few other people with the ability to use the Force also come to Tatooine. When you ask them (“more like _interrogate_ them,” Kenobi complains) how they knew about this place, they admit that they don’t know: “It was like I _had_ to come here,” one tells you. “Like it was calling to me. It just felt right.”

They _all_ say things like that. Whatever Luke is doing to the Force, it is far larger than you had originally assumed.

Which is why it shouldn’t have been a surprise when someone else comes to investigate it.

The stormtroopers that approach the farm are not the disheveled and inept soldiers local to Tatooine; instead, their armor shines in the suns and they walk in a tight formation, their blasters drawn and ready, although their footsteps are unsteady on the sand.

The one who leads them, however, has no such difficulty with the terrain.

“I seek the boy named Luke Skywalker,” Darth Vader’s voice booms out over the gathering crowd of students. Some of the former Inquisitors still carry their lightsabers, though most do not. “Surrender him to me, and there is a possibility that you will survive this encounter.”

Your lightsaber is already lit and in your hands.

It certainly draws Vader’s attention. “I had been told that you were hiding here, old man,” he says with obvious disdain. “Throw down your lightsaber.” He looks around at the students who have their own weapons out and ready. “All of you.”

You weigh your options: the number of troopers with blasters will make any attempt at a defense difficult, but you have faced worse odds. The presence of other Force-users here might prove to be enough of a distraction that you could hold off an attack long enough for Luke to escape.

But Vader changes the equation. Even when you were younger, it would have been a challenge. Assuming that you didn’t keel over in the process, you still wouldn’t last for long in a direct fight.

You toss your saber onto the ground. Before it hits the sand, Vader pulls it into his hand using the Force.

Kenobi appears at your side as the students gradually stand down. “Can he see you?” you ask him.

“I don’t think so,” Kenobi says. “I’m fairly certain that he would have said something by now.”

You grimace. “You know, if you had been a terrible teacher, he would be less of a threat right now.”

“I _was_ a terrible teacher.” Kenobi’s expression is a storm of regret and pain.

“Feel sorry for yourself later,” you snap. “Right now, we have to keep him from stealing our apprentice.” You raise your voice and call to Vader. “He isn’t here.”

“It’s all right,” another voice says. “You don’t have to cover for me.”

You groan. Is the boy _trying_ to get himself killed?

Luke makes his way over the sand towards where Vader is standing. “Hello, Father.”

It is subtle, but you can hear a slight hitch in Vader’s breathing. “So you know the truth.”

“I know that you were once Anakin Skywalker,” he says. “I know what you did to the Jedi.” He glances at Cita and some of the other former Inquisitors. “I know what you did to other people as well.”

“Then you also know that I would not hesitate to kill them all if you do not come with me,” Vader says. 

“What would you do if I _did_ come with you?” Luke asks.

“If they surrendered,” Vader replies, “they would be permitted to live.”

Luke’s voice is flat. “As prisoners.”

“It is more than many of them deserve, for betraying the Empire.”

“No deal,” Luke says, crossing his arms over his chest. “They came here to get away from you. I won’t let you take them back to that.”

“Won’t ‘ _let’_ me?” Vader’s growl is enough to distort the vocal modulator in his mask. “Insolent child, count yourself fortunate that the Emperor has an interest in keeping you alive.”

“What about you?”

Vader pauses. “What do you mean?”

“Do _you_ want me alive, Father?”

“That is… not relevant.”

“Of course it is: I’m your _son._ If anyone has an opinion on this, I’d think it would be you.”

Vader is silent for a moment, and then continues as though he hadn’t heard Luke speak. “Are you attempting to bargain for their fate?”

Luke smiles a little at that. “That’s exactly what I’m doing.”

“You have no leverage. It would take almost no effort to drag you from this place and then bombard the planet from orbit.”

“There isn’t anything I can do to change that.” Luke’s tone is still mild. “But _you_ could change it, Father.”

“I…” Apparently Luke’s use of that title is having more of an effect than you thought it would: Vader sounds like a droid fighting against its programming. “I must obey my Master.”

Much to your disgust, you feel a momentary stab of sympathy for him. You remember being that broken. You aren’t sure that you’re not still that broken.

“And he ordered you to bind me and take me to him?” Luke asks.

The word ‘bind’ seems to hit Vader like a blow to the chest. Clever, you think: Luke is reminding Vader of his childhood in slavery on this very world, and how he is still a slave all these years later—even worse, pointing out that Vader is now complicit in enslaving others.

This boy is far more dangerous than you ever gave him credit for.

“All right,” Luke says after it becomes clear that Vader has no response to his question, “let’s go, then.”

 _“What?”_ Vader, Kenobi, and you all say in unison.

“I’m ready. Take me to him.” From his tone, it sounds like he’s asking for a ride to Mos Eisley rather than offering to deliver himself into the hands of the most powerful person in the galaxy.

“Luke, this is foolishness!” Kenobi shouts.

“More like _suicide,”_ you add.

“I’m sure it will be fine,” Luke says. He looks at Vader. “Won’t it, Father?”

Apparently the boy is also a danger to _himself._ All this time spent training him, and Kenobi’s entire plan is about to fall apart.

If the circumstances were different, you would have found the look of agony on Kenobi’s face to be deeply satisfying.

Instead, you just feel angry. 

“Very well,” Vader says after a moment. He signals the stormtroopers to lead the way back to the shuttle.

You start after them, reaching out to the Force in preparation to grab the nearest weapon.

“Don’t,” Kenobi says.

“I have to do _something!”_ you protest in a whisper.

He looks just as upset as you are. “Either the plan worked or it didn’t. It’s all in Luke’s hands now—”

“Luke is an _idiot!”_ you hiss.

“Luke is the _Chosen One,”_ he hisses back. He looks at the backs of Vader and his son, growing ever smaller in the distance. “There’s nothing we can do.”

You hate that he’s right. 

You hate that you care what happens to Luke.

You hate that you’re still hoping for a happy ending.

You hate that you suddenly _care_ about being happy.

“It’s not like he ever listened to us anyway,” you mutter, doing your best to console yourself. “Sidious has no idea what kind of brat he’s up against.”

* * *

The news reaches Tatooine shortly before Luke does: Sidious is gone. His Empire remains, but much like its former Master, it is a withered husk.

You didn’t sense him die. It’s almost a relief: whatever hold he still had on you was much less than you thought.

Luke steps off the Imperial shuttle that he apparently stole while on Coruscant, looking like he was returning from a few inconvenient errands. 

Cita and some of the other students are with you when you meet him at the ship. “Did you kill him?” you demand as soon as you get the opportunity. 

Luke shakes his head. “How was I supposed to kill a Sith Lord? It wasn’t as though Vader let me hang onto my lightsaber. Well,” he corrects himself, “I guess it was _his_ lightsaber originally.”

“Then what happened? How _did_ he die?”

“My father said no.” There is a deep well of significance behind those four words: a long and difficult tale of which you were only present for a small portion. You want to know more, but the look on Luke’s face gives you second thoughts. You pick up the slight odor of ozone from him and understand part of the price that had been extracted in exchange for this victory.

“And where is Vader?” Kenobi asks. You can’t tell what outcome he is hoping for.

A flash of grief appears on Luke’s face. “He died a few hours after it was over.” The grief fades and is replaced by a sense of grim purpose. “Before he died, he told me about a weapon that the Empire is constructing. I passed the information along to the Rebellion; they should be able to destroy it before it becomes operational.”

“You’re not going to help?” Kenobi’s tone is slightly reproachful.

“Maybe, if they ask,” Luke says with a shrug, “but I’m not a soldier. They’ll be fine without me. It shouldn’t be like the old days, when anyone who could use the Force was a tool of whoever was in power. If people want to help by joining an army, that’s fine, but _they_ should get to decide that, not the Senate.”

Kenobi does not appear particularly pleased with that answer.

“What happens now?” Cita says.

Luke looks thoughtful for a moment. “The harvest is coming up, but after that…” He grins. “Well, I have a ship now. I’d like to see a little more of the galaxy.” Luke gives you and Kenobi a nod. “I bet you both have some ideas.”

Before Kenobi can rattle off the location of every Jedi Temple he can think of, you scoff. “I cannot think of a single planet worth visiting. Whether it’s the inhabitants or the planets themselves, the galaxy is universally terrible.”

You are met with a look of incredulity. “We’re on Tatooine,” Luke says. “The only way a planet could be worse is if it was literally on fire.”

“Then I would suggest avoiding Mustafar,” you say. From the weary expression on his face, you can tell that Kenobi agrees.

* * *

Life on Tatooine changes very little in the aftermath of the Empire’s destruction. Neither the Empire nor the Republic ever held much influence out here.

It is strange to realize that it’s over. Your greatest enemies are dead. Luke has forged enough of his own path that he doesn’t need your guidance anymore. For the first time in your life, you could theoretically relax, which is a word that you barely understand.

You are the last of the Sith Order, but you at least have the consolation of knowing that the Jedi Order is gone as well. In a way, both you and Kenobi fulfilled your purposes: you helped destroy the Jedi and he helped destroy the Sith. Not that there is anyone left alive to congratulate either of you. 

It’s probably better that way. 

People depart, people return. There are always a few newcomers who arrive looking for balance. Sometimes they even find it. 

One day, a ship arrives. It is obviously owned by someone well-off, because it sticks out like a sore thumb among the battered and dusty ships that normally come to Tatooine.

The girl who arrives on it sticks out even more, wearing a dress so white that it almost glows with its own inner brilliance. 

“Ah,” Kenobi says as the two of you exit the house and watch her from a distance. “I was wondering when she would come.”

It isn’t just her clothes that radiate light: she herself is a beacon in the Force, just as fierce and unyielding as Luke. 

In fact… “There was a sister this whole time?” you ask, feeling a little indignant that Kenobi never bothered to let you in on this part of the plan. “What was she, some kind of backup?”

“Not exactly. The Jedi were far too removed from the needs of the galaxy. We were charged with helping people that we never bothered to understand.” He pauses for a moment before continuing. “If Palpatine was able to operate in plain sight, why couldn’t one of ours?”

You frown. It is an interesting notion, even though you doubt it will be as effective as Kenobi seems to think. “You planned for one to topple an Empire, and the other to rule over what came after?”

“To rebuild,” he corrects you. 

You shrug. You don’t see much of a difference between the two. “Dathomir was much the same way: the Nightsisters reigned and the Nightbrothers battled.”

Kenobi looks a little uncomfortable at the comparison. You can’t help but smile at that. 

You consider going back inside before your ribs can resume their usual ache, but you decide to stay outside a little longer, watching the two siblings meet one another. Your wreck of a body doesn’t bother you at the moment: right now, you feel better than you have felt in ages. 

In fact, you don’t feel any pain at all. 

“My body is still inside the house, isn’t it?” you ask quietly.

Kenobi nods without looking at you. “Yes,” he says. “You could go see it if you wanted.”

“It probably looks extremely undignified.”

“You were sitting down at the time. It just looks like you fell asleep.”

You make a noise of disgust. “Even worse. How long has it been?”

“Your heart gave out about twenty minutes ago. It took another eight or nine minutes for brain activity to cease.”

“You told me that it would be slow and excruciating.”

“I suppose it’s a good thing that I’m occasionally wrong about something.” One side of his mouth twitches into a brief half-smile. “Very _rare_ occasions, of course. Are you ready?”

“No,” you admit, looking out at the scene before you—one that will continue without you, “but I don’t have much of a choice. I never picked up that ghost trick of yours.”

“I could have tried to teach you if you had asked.”

“Which is why I didn’t ask.” You might not be in pain any longer, but you are still so tired. Even if you _had_ managed to learn enough about the Light Side to do it, continuing on as a ghost sounds exhausting. Better to fade into the Force and finally rest, you think.

“Good luck keeping everything from falling into ruin without me there to clean up your messes,” you say.

Kenobi makes a sound of amusement. “In my experience, there is no such thing as luck.”

You roll your eyes. “You couldn’t resist being an irritation even in my final moments?”

“I wouldn’t want you to think that I was pitying you.” But something in his expression does soften a bit. “In spite of everything, I’m not sure if this plan would have worked without your… your assistance.”

“Is that your way of saying ‘thank you’?” you ask skeptically.

“I suppose that it is.”

“It wasn’t the worst way to have spent my time, despite being stuck on this horrible planet with you.”

“Would you have been happier anywhere else?” he asks.

“I have no idea,” you say. “Being happy was never something I cared about.”

He raises an eyebrow. “It’s a bit late to lie to yourself, you know.”

You snort. “It’s a bit late to pretend that you understand me.”

Kenobi gives you a long look. “Don’t I?”

You feel yourself beginning to fade. “Consider this my final act of revenge,” you reply with the widest grin you possess. “You will never know for sure if you did.”

It doesn’t happen until the very end, right before the thing that is ‘you’ becomes ‘everything’: for that singular final moment, you _are_ happy.

**Author's Note:**

> Music: The Mountain Goats, "Spent Gladiator 2"


End file.
